Bad Day
by lilacbush80
Summary: Sawada has a bad day. Rated T for language and because I'm paranoid.


Bad Day

"Seriously?" With a sigh, I pull my now soaked shoe from the deceptively deep puddle. I shake some of the excess water off and can already feel my sock becoming just as wet. I roll my eyes and continue to make my way to school.

Thunder rumbles overhead and umbrellas begin to go up around me as it begins to sprinkle. I'd be doing likewise, but I failed to grab my umbrella this morning. _It probably would have been broken,_ I think mockingly. Shoving my hands deeper into my pockets, I think back to the events that have brought me to such a cheery mindset:

I got soap in my eyes while taking a shower.

It took me forever to find my damn cell phone (it was in the pocket of the pants I wore yesterday—the most obvious place to look and the last place I looked).

My shoelace broke.

While looking for a replacement, I pulled a drawer out too far and it landed on my foot.

My last supposed can of juice in the back of the fridge turned out to be open and empty.

My last supposed sweet bun had been replaced by an "I.O.U." note from Kuma.

I stop suddenly, barely hearing the grumblings of the people who had been walking behind me as they go around. _Where is it?_ I desperately feel around in my pockets for my house key. Not in my jacket pockets, not in my pants pockets—_wait!_—there is a hole in my right pants pocket just big enough to allow a key to slip through.

"Shit," I hiss, earning a disapproving look from a lady with a little girl, though, right now, I couldn't care less. Slowly, I turn around in the off chance that I may have just lost the key, but realize how futile this gesture is. _About as futile as thinking I have any kind of chance of ever seeing that key again._

Head bowed, body slumped, I drag my feet, thinking about what this will bring about: _I'll have to tell my landlord, who will replace my locks and will bill my father, who will call me to inform me once again on what a disappointment I am_—I stop that train of thought before I depress myself and pull my cell phone out to check the time, only to find the battery dead. Gripping the phone tightly, I shove it back in my pocket—the one _without_ the hole—before I end up throwing it.

"Could this day get any worse?" I huff as a peal of thunder rolls overhead.

* * *

My rhetorical question was apparently taken to heart by some unknown deity, for, as it turns out, yes, it could, indeed, get worse. Only three blocks from school, it began to pour. I debate whether I should wait it out in one of the nearby shops or make a run for it when a bus drives through one of those deceptively deep puddles right next to me, soaking me in the process. Seeing as I couldn't possibly get any wetter, I sigh heavily and shrug in resignation, continuing on with my trek to school.

Classes have already begun when I arrive, my sodden shoes squelching and squeaking in the deserted hallways. I head for the nearest bathroom, only to find it has an "Out of Order" sign taped to the door. Ignoring the sign, I enter anyway, intent on finding some way of drying off, but instead, find the janitor. He shoos me out into the waiting arms of Sawatari, who catches me by the elbow and firmly escorts me to class, lecturing on the importance of punctuality the entire way.

It's all I can do _not_ to take a swing at him.

He releases me outside the classroom, leaving me with one last warning that he'll be keeping an eye on me. I wait until he's around the corner before muttering "asshole" and gesturing rudely in his direction. My anger quickly dissipates as I turn back to the closed door, straightening out my jacket sleeve and running a hand absently through my limp, stringy hair in some vain attempt to look decent. Taking in a deep breath and closing my eyes briefly, I try to make myself look as impassive as possible before opening the door.

"Sawada, you're all wet."

I stop in the entrance to the classroom upon hearing this blunt statement, quite sure it's meant in the literal sense of the idiom and not the figurative. Either way, it has served its purpose: the attention of everyone in the room is now focused on my water-logged state. Seemingly unconcerned, I head for my desk, allowing the door to close of its own accord, feeling the curious and amused students watching me, wanting to know what happened, but I am in no mood to enlighten them.

"Hey, Sawada, you look like a drowned rat." Snickers accompany this comment, but I ignore them and slide into my seat, dropping my book bag with a wet _plop_ beside me. Without the threat of repercussions, more brave souls decide to add their own smartass remarks.

"Yeah, Sawada, don't you know you're supposed to take your clothes off _before_ you take a shower?"

"Is all this rain the seven inches you promised your girlfriend last night, Sawada?"

"You dumbass, Sawada doesn't have a girlfriend."

"How do you know? And don't call me a dumbass!"

"I'll call you whatever I want, _dumbass_!"

They would have continued on in this fashion had they not been interrupted by, surprisingly, _Kuma_. Slamming a hand down on the desk in front of him, he swiftly stands with a fiery, angry look that is unfamiliar to many. "Oi! You're _both_ dumbasses, now sit down and shut your holes before I come over there and knock you into next Tuesday!"

Just as quickly, Kuma sits back down, though he glares the formerly bickering boys down until they, too, quietly take their seats. On a scale of one to ten for "Yamaguchi in Yakuza mode" impersonations, I'd give him an eight. Turning in his seat, a shadow of annoyance still lingering in his eyes, he mutters, "Don't listen to them, Shin-chan. What do they know anyway?"

"Yeah," Noda pops in. "They're just fooling around. You don't _really_ look like a drowned rat."

"More like a drowned ferret." This earns Uchi a punch in the arm from Minami. "Ow! What the hell, man?"

Minami shakes his head, scowling. "Not helping."

"What happened, Shin-chan?" I sigh and assume my usual position at my desk: arms folded on top with my head turned away and resting on them, feigning sleep. Kuma tries to continue reassuring me, but I just tune him out. A shiver runs through me due to my wet clothes and I huddle in closer to myself.

The door slams open shortly after, announcing the noisy arrival of our teacher Yamaguchi Kumiko. She yells out apologies for being late and unsuccessfully tries to get the class to settle down. When this doesn't work, she resorts to threats.

"Oi! I said, put a sock in it, all of you, before I do it for you," she demands in a shrill voice, slamming her hand on her desk for emphasis. The classroom becomes quiet. Drawn away from my self-thrown pity-party, I turn my head and take up my usual watch of our teacher.

_Everybody needs a hobby._

Uchi, still sitting atop Minami's desk, stupidly breaks the short lived silence by bluntly asking, "Man, Yankumi, what's got your panties in a twist?"

She levels him with one of her devil glares, causing him to fall frightfully into the lap of Minami who cries out in protest. A few students nervously chuckle when Uchi ends up on the floor. He scurries to stand and quickly slides into his own seat in front of Minami, his hands folded and his head down.

"Anybody else?" Her eyes rake over the classroom, looking for that fight she always seems to be spoiling for, stopping when she meets my eyes. Clearly puzzled, I assume from my less than normal appearance, rather than the fact that I don't avert my gaze as the others, she takes a few steps in my direction before asking, "Sawada, why are you all wet?"

As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder sounds above the school, causing the old building to shake enough that we can all feel it. When it's clearly evident the danger has passed, some moron asks giddily if we can do that again. The rest of the class erupts in giggles, curses, and boasts of what will happen if the thunder tries that one more time.

"All right, everyone, it's just a little thunder," Yamaguchi soothes, hands up in a placating manner. "It's not like it's Armageddon."

"Aw, I love that movie!" somebody exclaims, which launches the students into a discussion on the recent downward spiral of Bruce Willis movies. Yamaguchi attempts to get the class settled again, but ends up animatedly joining in the conversation. Thankfully, the bell rings, putting a quick end to the debate as the students can't seem to leave fast enough.

My friends hang around for a bit, trying to encourage me to ditch the rest of the day in favor of something more fun—"like a root canal," Uchi jokes—but I ignore them until they leave. I know they're only trying to help, but being around them is only going to make me feel worse. I'm cold, wet, and miserable and I just want everyone to leave me alone right now.

_Is that too much to ask? _

Guess so. The classroom is nearly full with the next batch of students, many of them whispering amongst themselves and casting probing glances in my direction. With a heavy sigh, I reach down blindly for my bag and slowly stand up. Distracted by thoughts on whether I should hide out for the rest of the day or just go home, I don't notice the wet spot on the floor left behind by my bag.

_There is really no end to life's little humiliations._

Fortunately, I'm able to awkwardly turn and catch myself on the desk in front of me rather than perform a full-blown face-plant for the class to see. Unfortunately, my knees take the brunt of the painful impact and I bite my tongue when my chin hits the desktop. Kneeling there with the coppery taste of blood in my mouth, I feel the prick of tears at the corners of my eyes. Not necessarily from pain, either.

_At least it can't get much worse, right?_

I mentally tell that optimism to go do something anatomically impossible to itself as I try not to cry. I will myself not to with whatever is left in me. It will accomplish nothing. It won't make this damn day end any sooner.

But I'm just so damn tired. Something inside of me has snapped like a string wound too tightly and I want to give up. I wonder if I could just curl up on the floor and stay there the rest of the day. It couldn't possibly be any more embarrassing than my spontaneous attempt at acrobatics in a room full of underclassmen.

"Bad day?" Yamaguchi asks in a low voice, pulling me out of my oppressive thoughts. Without turning my head, I see her kneeling beside me with a concerned expression. I scowl, annoyed with myself for letting her see me like this—so feeble and helpless. I wasn't even aware she was still in the classroom.

I make a weak attempt to stand, but can't seem to get my muscles to move anymore. The rustling of her clothing lets me know she is now standing and her hand appears in my line of vision, so I take it. She hauls me to my feet too quickly and places her other hand on my chest before I fall on her. Swallowing thickly, I take a step back, but she moves in closer, invading the hell out of my personal space as her eyes search my face.

I try to hide my inner misery from her probing stare, but a sharp intake of breath lets me know she's seen something she wasn't expecting. My throat aches with defeat and I turn my head away, my thoughts a mess of confusion. A gentle squeeze of my hand, probably meant to be comforting, only makes me feel worse.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she murmurs. I feel a light tug and resist at first, but finally allow her to tow me along. She calls out instructions for while she's gone followed by threats if those instructions are not met. The moment we're out the door, the classroom erupts into the boisterous noise that is common for any unsupervised class. I'm fairly certain his is going to be all over the school by lunchtime.

Yamaguchi drags me around for a while and I begin to wonder if my hand is really as sweaty as it feels before the echoing sounds of balls bouncing on hardwood floors let's me know that we're close to the gym. My confusion is short lived when she stops outside a room that I recognize as the gym teacher's office and knocks loudly. Nobody answers, so she hesitantly opens the door and peaks her head in while calling out apologies, then yanks me inside, allowing the door to close quietly behind us.

She deposits me in a worn leather chair behind the teacher's desk with a promise that she'll be right back and disappears into an adjoining room. I look around halfheartedly, having seen this small, dreary, windowless office after a meeting due to my "attendance skills" or lack thereof. The cold catches up with me and a shiver dances through my body. Sighing heavily, I slump down in the seat, head bowed, arms crossed over my chest.

"I have got to get you out of those clothes," Yamaguchi comments as she reenters the room with a handful of white folded towels. I decide to let that one go—too easy. She drapes one of the towels over my head and dumps the rest on the desk before she begins tousling my hair dry. "You're going to catch your death if you don't change into something dry."

After a thorough drying filled with uncomfortable silence, she whips the towel off and tosses it haphazardly over her shoulder, eyeing me critically. "No good," she mumbles and starts finger-combing my hair.

My heart gives a queer little shudder, which I instantly dismiss as both ridiculous and embarrassing. I can't picture any other teacher going to this length to help a student, but I can see Yamaguchi doing this for any of her other students. And that's all I am to her: _a student._

"You want to talk about it?" No, I definitely do _not_ want to talk about it. She continues to style my hair, my skin prickling with every touch along my scalp. I close my eyes, enjoying the attention, when she roughly grabs my face between her hands, tilting my head up. My eyes fly open in surprise and I find her studying me again, her eyes narrow. "You're not being bullied, are you?"

I blink at her. It's such a weird thing to ask, that I'm not angry, just puzzled. Why would she ever think that? I must look worse than I thought. Rather than reply, I give her an expression that is the facial equivalent of the finger.

"Don't look at me like that," she scolds, her hands dropping to my shoulders. "As a teacher, it's a legitimate question. How am I supposed to help you if you won't talk to me?"

Something between a sigh and a huff of exasperation leaves my mouth. She's like a dog with a bone: she won't let this go. "Bad day," I answer vaguely, hoping she'll drop it.

I should know better.

"Okay, when you say, _bad day_, do you mean, like, as in your hamster died, or, like, as in you got up on the wrong side of the bed?"

My left eyebrow rises a fraction. "I don't own a hamster, Yamaguchi."

"Don't get smart with me."

"You want me stupid?" She swats me on the shoulder and I wince, sure there's going to be a bruise there tomorrow. "The second one."

She steps back, her gaze thoughtful. "Well, there are two known cures for bad days," she says matter-of-factly. I cock an eyebrow skeptically, but don't interrupt. "The first cure involves beating the shit out of something or someone."

This definitely sounds like a "cure" befitting a yakuza heiress, but it's not for me. I'm really not the violent type, contrary to popular belief. "What's the second cure?" I ask, genuinely curious.

She suddenly seems uncomfortable, clearing her throat and looking away while she rubs the back of her head. "It's a little more, um, _hands on_," she answers cryptically. I sit there quietly, giving her a chance to continue, but she just stares intently at a spot on the floor.

Sighing impatiently, I begin to stand, only to be pushed back down into my seat haphazardly. I open my mouth indignantly when she moves in close and wraps her arms around my shoulders, silencing me effectively. All coherent thoughts abandon me, leaving me to sit rigid, not quite sure what to do.

"Relax," Yamaguchi whispers, her breath puffing against my ear. "It's the second cure." Shivers that have nothing to do with my wet clothes run through me. She tightens her grip, bringing me nearer so my head can now lean against her shoulder comfortably. Slowly, I reach up and tentatively rest my hands on her hips. When she doesn't kill me, I slide them around to her back and take her advice, sinking into her cushioning embrace.

The hug feels nice. I feel nice, generally speaking. Where there had been hurt, there is suddenly nothing, and other feelings rush to fill the void: happiness, embarrassment, desire.

She begins stroking my back in what should be a soothing manner, but my quickened pulse begs to differ. I can feel her, the slender, warm strength and softness of her body. I can smell her hair, her skin, their scent a heady mix of vanilla and an array of spices that blend so closely it's near impossible to tell them apart. I'd have to sit here all day with her—

My face warms and a voice in my head cautions that I'm treading dangerous territory. On the one hand, this could finally put an end to the student/teacher relationship she insists on falling back on whenever things become tense between us. On the other hand, it could destroy the friendship that we've both come to value and rely on. Though I would like to push this further, I know she isn't ready to be pushed.

_Discretion is the better part of valor, after all._

I heed the warning but tell my nobility to go play in traffic while I slowly and reluctantly pull away. With one last squeeze and a soft exhale of breath, she straightens, a smile trembling over her lips. Leaning back in the chair, I try to appear unaffected, looking elsewhere and waiting for the pounding of my heart to quiet. I steal a glance at her face only to find her staring at me with a strange expression, part tender, part worried, part...something. I don't get a chance to figure it out before she looks down.

"Damnit, Sawada," she yells. She snatches up a towel and begins dabbing at the odd pattern of water spots on her yellow top. "How am I supposed to explain this? I can't go back to class all wet."

"Then don't." She stops and stares at me, her brows furrowed. "Don't go back to class."

Her mouth drops open. "Are you encouraging me to skip classes?" she exclaims in irritation. "I'm a teacher, in case you've forgotten. What kind of example would I be setting to my precious students by playing hooky?" She answers before I have a chance. "A _bad_ one, a _very bad_ one." She looks at her shirt petulantly. "This is all your fault, Sawada."

"I'm not the one who instigated the hug, Yamaguchi," I respond, more amused than angry.

She throws the towel at me. "That didn't mean anything," she sputters, twin stains of scarlet appearing on her cheeks, her eyes focused once again on the interesting spot on the floor. "I only did it to make you feel better, that's all."

I have to admit, I do feel better. Maybe there really is something to those "cures" of hers. "Why don't you have someone from home bring you a new pair of clothes?" I suggest.

Her face brightens. "And they can bring you some dry clothes, too." She notices my lack of enthusiasm at that suggestion and her face falls. "Or not."

I watch her chew her lip contemplatively, impure thoughts about those lips flooding my mind. "Do you need a ride home?" she asks reluctantly. "Or to my house? We're having hot pot tonight."

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, but I suppress it. "Yeah, I could go for some hot pot."

A grin overtakes her features and she practically skips out of the room before I call her back. "Your top," I remind her. She looks down in surprise and quickly removes it. A white tank top lies beneath and she ties the sleeves of the track suit top around her waist. I don't understand why she can't go around the rest of the day like this, but, whatever, if it'll get me a ride out of here, I won't question it. She looks at me expectantly, arms held out, awaiting my approval.

I give her a small nod and she begins to open the door, but I call her again. She looks back, a suggestion of annoyance hovering in her eyes.

"Thank you, Yamaguchi."

At first, she seems confused, but her smile returns and she shrugs happily. "You're welcome at our house anytime, Sawada." She misunderstands my meaning, but it's for the best.

_At least, for now._


End file.
